


Long Way Down

by tequila-tequila (enbycalhoun)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, Harry has long hair because i said so, Homophobic Language, M/M, Marijuana, Maybe - Freeform, Medication, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Louis Tomlinson, Past Abuse, Self-Harm, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Smoking, Strangers to Lovers, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Tags May Change, Therapy, idk yet, side Ziam
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 05:27:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28808067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enbycalhoun/pseuds/tequila-tequila
Summary: “You alright?” There’s mirth in Liam’s eyes.“Yeah, I’m trying to listen to this bloke sing, if you don’t mind.”“Alright,” Zayn replies, but his voice goes up in pitch and his eyes don’t meet Louis’.“Oh bugger off,” Louis mumbles, turning back around to catch Harry’s eye. Good thing Louis will probably never see this guy again. He imagines himself to look like a cool guy on the outside with his messy quiff and three day old stubble. It’s all a façade since Louis is ninety percent anxiety and ten percent self deprecating jokes. But, Harry doesn’t need to know that. Louis can just be a pretty face in a crowd.Louis is anxious and deals with casual suicidal thoughts, Liam swears he can break the rules, Zayn is the most supportive friend, Niall is a pub manager and Harry is trying to become a rock star and makes Louis feel something.***This fic will be updated very randomly. This is mostly an outlet for me when I need to express my thoughts and work through things in my own personal life. That being said, I have no real plans for when to update or how this story will turn out.***
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Kudos: 13





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: USE CAUTION GOING FORWARD. Louis’ inner dialogue in this is very similar to my own, which means it can be very casual about very serious topics. He uses unhealthy coping mechanisms and should not be seen as anything but. This is a fic about struggle with mental illness and finding a way to cope despite that. Do not use any advice from the therapist in this fic unless a real, license therapist has encouraged you to do so. Some things I use in this fic I have used myself and have been suggested to use by MY therapist. But I am not one and I do not have the degree to tell someone else how to cope with their mental illness. 
> 
> This fic will be updated very randomly. This is mostly an outlet for me when I need to express my thoughts and work through things in my own personal life. That being said, I have no real plans for when to update or how this story will turn out. Although I do intend on finishing this.
> 
> If I need to add tags, please do not hesitate to let me know!
> 
> You can find me on tumblr @tequilatequilafics  
> Thank you to my wonderful beta Christy who you can find on tumblr and a03 @rainbowchristy 
> 
> Please enjoy <3

Freedom doesn't feel quite as good as Louis thought it would. In fact, being on the tube full of people was such a stark difference to the past two weeks that Louis was practically cutting off all blood flow to Zayn's hand. The smooth fingers intertwined with his own is like an anchor. Keeping him here, present in the tube instead of drowning in his own heartbeat and shallow breaths. The medicine helps; Louis doesn't want to admit that. It doesn't take away the racing or intrusive thoughts, but it makes it easier for Louis to focus on the smell of Zayn's cologne or the sound of the small child sitting next to him humming something he doesn't recognize. 

"Doing okay?" Zayn tightens his hold for a split second and Louis can feel his eyes rake over him. Louis keeps his eyes trained on the AD for some crisps plastered above everyone's heads.

"Why yes, Zayn, I'm just brilliant. I'm buzzing." 

"Lou."

"I just wanna get home, really." 

"Liam should be there with the food."

"I would have slit my wrists if I had to eat another one of those god forsaken meals in the ward. But I guess that's how I got myself into this mess in the first place." 

"You need to stop doing that," Zayn sighs. 

"Never bothered you before."

"That was before you- just-...please?" 

"Yeah, alright. M' sorry." 

Deflecting. Making what happened seem like not a big deal. It's something him and his new therapist, Richard, are working on. Obviously, it's not going so well. 

With a sigh of relief, Louis and Zayn make their way out of the station towards their flat. The tightness in Louis' chest contracts and loosens just a bit. When they start the five flight journey up the stairs of their building, the pressure deflates one creaky stair at a time. 

Only when Zayn shoulders their front door open does Louis' own shoulders finally relax. 

Louis won't admit it out loud, but he's happy to see the flat again, in all it's grungy glory. It's not much but it does the job. The paint on the walls are chipped and the windows don't keep all the cold January air out. It's not home but a place Louis can have his existential crisis' in peace and quiet. 

  
  


****

“So…” Zayn says from where he’s lounging on the brown plaid couch, feet propped up over Liam’s lap. 

Louis glances down from his spot on the oversized armchair. The legs of the couch broke about a year ago so now it sits on the floor. And it’s not like they haven’t had plenty of opportunities to snag another cheap, secondhand couch, but it's almost become an iconic feature in the flat. It’s not technically broken, so why throw it out?

“So…” Louis edges. 

“Tomorrow is mic night.” 

“No,” Liam says quickly, pausing his hands on Zayn’s socked feet. 

“Babe-”

“No, Zayn. Liam’s right,” Louis says between spoonfuls of ice cream. “I can’t have fun anymore since I tried killing myself.” The chocolate sauce is mixing with his melting ice cream at the bottom of his bowl and if he were more creative Louis could probably make some metaphor, but all he can think about is how the chocolate looks like his blood and the vanilla ice cream looks like bubbles. Metal clinks against ceramic as Louis mixes the sweets. Okay, so maybe it’s the first time since Louis came home on Monday that anyone has vocalized the reason for Louis’ three-week disappearance even though Louis knows their eyes sweep over the vertical slits up his arms. 

“Lou,” Liam treads carefully. He looks down to Zayn’s feet, a strand of hair falling from his quiff. “I was just going to say, maybe it’s not a good idea for us to go to mic night just because there will be alcohol and you shouldn’t be drinking with your medication.” 

“Oh my god, did you actually read the directions?” Louis rolls his eyes and lets his spoon fall loudly into the bowl. 

“I just wanted to make sure- you know, like...Zayn!” 

With a loud groan Zayn rolls his head back onto the arm of the couch. “Lou, you know Liam just wants to help. Babe, you shouldn’t be snooping through Louis’ shit!”

“I wasn’t snooping! He left it on the kitchen table!” 

“So that gives you the right to see what I'm taking?” Louis nearly shouts. His blood boils under the surface of his skin, drawing a familiar tight pulse to his chest. 

“You would have told me anyway!” 

Five. The old, oak coffee table he’s knocked his shins off too many times. One of Zayn’s paintings from university that’s a lot darker than the animations he makes now. His own blue, ratty slippers sitting on the floor in front of him. The television that currently plays a rerun of Friends. His ashtray sitting on the bookcase standing tall beside the glass door leading to the small balcony. 

Four. Cold seeps through the ceramic bowl into Louis’ fingertips. The scratchy fabric of the armchair itching at his bare calves. His greasy fringe. A throw blanket draped across his legs. 

Three. Louis’ own heart beat. Chandler and Joey speaking. Liam’s voice...Liam’s voice-  _ Liam’s fucking voice _ .

“Shut up! Jesus!” Louis cries. 

“I’m trying to have a conversation, Louis.” 

“No,” Louis says as he stands, lets the blanket fall to the flood, and clutches his melted ice cream to his chest. “You were interrupting this stupid  _ thing  _ I was trying to do because fucking  _ Richard  _ thought it would help with my panic attacks, but apparently it’s not immune to your  _ bullshit _ !” 

“Oh.” Liam fish mouths. 

“Yeah, ‘oh’. Fuck you guys.” As the beats of his heart start getting closer and closer, Louis shoves his feet into his slippers and takes his bowl to the kitchen to toss in the sink. The loud  _ clank  _ of ceramic on metal is quite satisfying. 

Without another word, Louis stalks to his room and slams the door shut. The funny thing is, Louis knows this is all his fault. He’s the one who raised his voice, igniting the argument. He’s the one who was  _ so  _ offended at Liam just trying to be helpful. And he’s also the one who tried to fucking kill himself, getting sent to the ward and prescribed these pills, so that means it’s all Louis’ fault. He’s reaping what he sowed. 

Shaking fingers fumble around his rucksack, in search of a release. When he left the hospital, he vowed he would never pick up another cigarette again. That lasted a whole day and a half until he had a breakdown after his chat with Niall. 

The pack of cigarettes stick to the sweat gathering in his palms and he prays his lighter still works. 

When he passes back in front of the TV, he raises a middle finger, jabbing his hand out at the words starting to spill from both of his roommates’ mouths before snatching the small glass ashtray off the bookcase. The glass door gets stuck on its track but it’s enough for Louis to squeeze through into the cold, winter air. A chill runs up his spine and over his exposed arms, raising bumps over the dark ink of his tattoos, but he holds a flame to the end of the cigarette and takes a long drag. 

It’s when Louis lights his second cigarette that Liam is pushing the glass door open. It sticks where it did when Louis tried the same thing. But when Liam huffs and tries to push his stocky build through the gap, Louis’ rude demeanor cracks. Despite a racing heart and slight tunnel vision, the sight of Liam struggling through the opening makes a cackle of laughter split from his throat. 

“It’s not funny,” Liam whines, but Louis can hear the smile under the childish whine. 

“Oh no, this is peak comedy. Zayn!” Louis shouts through the glass, pointing at the struggling man. “Look at your boyfriend!” 

Zayn looks fondly at the door and shakes his head before dropping it back on the armrest. 

“Look, Lou, I’m sorry- ”

“Are we going to have this talk with you stuck in the doorway?”

“Yes, now listen. I’m sorry I raised my voice. I’m sorry I looked through your shit. I just worry, y’know?”

Louis sighs before taking one last drag and snuffing the cigarette out in the ashtray. 

“I won't do it again. Please, I don’t want to have to see- like how you were when we found-”

“I just want everything to go back to normal,” Louis says, tired. Resolve fading. He’s exhausted by everything, really.

“Did we ever have a normal?”

“No, never have, never will. Now Payno,” Louis chuckles before raising his voice back to Zayn. “I push, you pull, yeah?” 

“Cheers,” Liam mutters. 

*~*

Mic night is a ritual of sorts. Ever since they moved into their London flat after uni, one of their top priorities was to find a pub to frequent that fit their high standards. So basically as long as they had cheap beer and chips.  _ Stan’s _ is an easy fifteen-minute walk away. It also has Niall. A brunette Irish lad who has a jaunty laugh and a friendly attitude. He’s loud like Louis and charming like Zayn, but somehow just as sweet as Liam. It wasn’t a surprise when instead of the boys visiting Niall at  _ Stan’s _ , Niall was becoming a permanent presence in their flat. It didn’t take long when the three boys became regular faces during mic nights every friday. 

Not only do they find some amazing local musicians, they also find some friends along the way. Ed and Lewis were two who stuck around. Both incredible musicians who performed at least once a month but are also amazing mates. 

_ Stan’s _ feels different now. Louis didn’t think he’d be at the pub ever again. But starting soon he will be here cleaning dishes and stacking tables in the evening making a pitiful wage. And now he is sitting at their usual table in the corner closest to the fireplace waiting for the first performer of the evening. At Liam’s request, Louis is slowly sipping on his first of two pints he’s allowed, and eating enough chips to even himself out. The crowd is steadily growing, making Louis sink further into his chair. Liam and Zayn are having a  _ riveting  _ discussion on the use of censorship in the media and Louis is not having any of it. 

It all feels fake. Like he isn’t really there under the lights, smelling cheap beer and grease. Richard’s voice is weaving in and out of his consciousness, reminding Louis to ground himself. Live in the moment. Breathe. It almost works. What actually works is the strum of an acoustic guitar sounding from the small stage behind him. That’s why he’s always enjoyed mic night. He doesn’t have to speak to anyone or act like he’s listening. Eyes are focused on Niall sitting on a stool in front of a microphone as his fingers dance fearlessly over the strings of his guitar. 

Louis turns his chair around and cradles his pint against his chest. 

“He’s getting good,” Zayn says, making Louis turn to smirk at his friends. 

“He really is,” Louis says with pride. It’s actually a shame that no one’s picked Niall up for a full ride to the limelight. 

Contently, Louis taps his foot to the beat of the song and loses himself in it. He loves mic night. 

Niall is in and out after he leaves the stage. He brings them more chips and looks at Louis with a motherly look when he joins Liam and Zayn’s next round of beer.

“Don’t worry mum; I don’t work tomorrow,” Louis rolls his eyes. 

Over the commotion of changing acts, Niall chuckles and says, “Yeah I know. I make the schedule.” 

“Know’s I won't be up until noon tomorrow. Smart boy.” 

Niall returns with three beers and officially flags Louis with no good reason. As he leaves their table, a guitar sounds from the stage. When Louis turns around, his eyes open just a fraction wider. The man on the stage is  _ gorgeous _ . Dark curls fall down over the shoulders of a sheer black shirt with cuffed sleeves rolled up over his tattooed arms. His black pants are tight from his hips to his ankles, tucking into the sparkliest gold boots Louis has ever laid eyes on. But what makes Louis squirm is the sly grin crafted from the gods framed by dimples deep enough to probably do a shot out of. Not that Louis would ever suggest that. Unless he happened to get to know the bloke. No, he wouldn’t do that. Maybe. 

The rings on the guy’s fingers, with nails painted black, shine in the lights as they swim across the frets. Then, he opens his mouth. His voice rumbles deep in Louis' chest. It feels like a freight train headed straight for him in the best way possible. It’s smooth brandy and sticky honey all at once. The entire song, Louis can feel his jaw slack but can’t figure out how to pull it up off the floor. The man is the tide rolling in and out in smooth motions but somehow rough and unforgiving at the same time. 

"Thank you, M’ Harry." The man says into the mic and gives a sideways smile that makes Louis wish he could take a picture with his mind. He'd copy it and hang that photo everywhere so everyone could appreciate the beauty of it. "This next one, was written for a boy I loved." Harry's eyes lock on Louis'. Every bit of him says he should feel the anxiety creep up his neck, but he only feels a pit of butterflies swarm his stomach. It's different. It's so, so nice. 

The song is slow and Harry picks at the guitar with practiced hands. 

"This guy's good," Liam's voice says from somewhere behind Louis. He hums in agreement, clutching his pint for dear life as Harry's eyes meet his once again. A few lines later, Harry's eyes flick back over. For a second, Louis' stomach drops and he does a quick scan of what's behind himself. It's just Liam and Zayn who are in a deep conversation about something or another and a framed picture of Sir Paul McCartney. No one else to look at. 

Louis looks back to see Harry watching him, the sideways smirk plays around the lyrics Louis can't seem to decipher. Heat rushes to his cheeks. Is Harry looking at him? More like staring at this point. Unlike the last song where his eyes scanned the crowd, Harry's gaze seems locked on Louis. 

Harry sings this song with more soul, his eyes drifting closed and neck muscles tightening as he hits higher notes. Every time his eyes open, they fall on Louis. Even though the spotlight is on Harry, Louis feels like he’s in the hot seat. But he can’t move and can’t seem to move his eyes from Harry. It’s watching a car wreck. Harry closes the song with a vibrato that settles lightly in Louis’ chest.

“Thank you for listening to me this evening,” Harry says as he places a capo on his guitar and takes a swig of water. He shakes out his hair and flips it back over, catching Louis’ eye again. “You’re all looking lovely.” 

Louis laughs with the crowd but he can bet no one’s cheeks flare like his. 

“Very lovely,” Harry drawls at Louis. It might be the second pint, but Louis swears he sees Harry’s eyes flick down towards his feet and back up. Suddenly, Louis wonders how his hair looks and hopes his messy fringe isn’t getting too sweaty and there’s no sweat stains coming through his beige knit jumper. God, he’s a mess. It’s not like Harry is actually looking at him anyway. And if he is it’s probably just to fuck with him. So far the only things Louis knows about him is that his name is Harry, he can sing like a fucking rockstar, and no one has any business wearing pants that tight besides him. With that, he’s already way out of Louis’ league. If his track record is anything to go by, Louis’ types of men are those who get mad easily, snort too much cocaine, and possibly have massive god-complexes. Who knows though, Harry could also be that kind of guy. In that case, Louis would have a shot at another relationship but probably not at having a decent life. Post-suicide-attempt Louis is supposed to try and do better. Supposed to. 

“This one is for the girls and the gays,” Harry says into the mic and suddenly, Louis has all the boxes ticked off on his Standards Sheet. “This is called Girl Crush.” 

The sounds of the bar dim around Louis. He’s imagining Harry is singing to him even though he’s probably making eye contact with the photo of Paul McCartny that hangs just behind Louis’ shoulder. But for the two minutes of the song, Louis wonders what color Harry’s eyes are, and what it might feel like to hold those hands and maybe touch those bird tattoos poking out of the top of his shirt. 

“Lou!”

“Hmm?” Louis jerks around in his seat, almost spilling his beer.

Liam and Zayn both give him a dubious look. 

“What?” Louis asks more firmly. 

“You alright?” There’s mirth in Liam’s eyes. 

“Yeah, I’m trying to listen to this bloke sing, if you don’t mind.” 

“Alright,” Zayn replies, but his voice goes up in pitch and his eyes don’t meet Louis’.

“Oh bugger off,” Louis mumbles, turning back around to catch Harry’s eye. Good thing Louis will probably never see this guy again. He imagines himself to look like a cool guy on the outside with his messy quiff and three day old stubble. It’s all a facade since Louis is ninety percent anxiety and ten percent self deprecating jokes. But, Harry doesn’t need to know that. Louis can just be a pretty face in a crowd.

****

"Hi." 

Harry is standing next to him, holding a glass of something fruity looking. And he's speaking to Louis. Actually looking at Louis. And speaking to him. 

"Um, hey, hi," Louis fumbles with the empty glass in his hand. Liam and Zayn went to get themselves another round and Louis had stood up to stretch his limbs and made awkward small talk with Niall’s girlfriend, Babs, who also has now seemed to disappear in the throng of people. 

"Could I buy you a drink?" Harry’s voice is as deep as it was sounding through the microphone but now has a more intimate vibe to it in person and up close.

"Why?" Louis chuckles nervously. It’s his signature nervous laugh that he absolutely hates. He thanks Liam for pointing it out and now he can’t seem to  _ not  _ notice it.

"Looks like you could use one?" Harry laughs softly and points to Louis' empty pint. 

"Um, yeah, but like," Louis stutters and bites at his thumbnail. "Why me? That guy's looking almost empty." He nods towards a guy a few feet behind Harry. 

"Well that guy isn't nearly as attractive as you," Harry says after glancing back. That sideways smile makes Louis' heart skip. 

There she is. Miss Anxiety bubbling up under his skin, making it crawl. 

"I- well I guess, umm…" Louis returns his thumbnail to this teeth and trys to think of something to say that's not completely idiotic, because with the way Harry's smile falls and eyebrows pull together, Louis is really mucking this up. 

"I'm sorry. I, uh, I thought we had sort of a moment. When I was on stage." Harry runs a hand through his hair. "I can just go?" He takes a step back. 

"No!" Louis reaches out and holds onto Harry's tattooed arm. Fuck. He let's go like he's been burnt and curses himself. "I'm just- I'm really fucking awkward, mate," Louis says. He's nothing but eloquent. 

That smile slowly grows back on Harry's lips as he steps back in Louis' space. "It's endearing." 

"It's embarrassing." 

"Will you keep doing it if I buy you a drink?" 

"Not to be a buzzkill, but alcohol actually makes me  _ less  _ awkward. Well, I feel less awkward, but I'm sure I'm just as a mess drunk, if not more." 

"Hmm, I'll be the judge of that. What d'you drink?" 

Louis is either going to explode, or fling himself off the nearest bridge, and he can’t decide which one it will be yet. "Uh, whatever's cheap. I'm easy, honest." 

Harry raises his eyebrows. "Noted." 

"I mean, not- oh god- like not  _ sex _ . Jesus, like, I'm not gonna blow you in the  _ loo  _ or something like that." The bridge it is, Louis decides as he awkwardly laughs again.

Harry lets out a loud, honking laugh and claps a hand over his mouth. 

"I'm sorry-" 

"No, no, that was good. You're funny." Harry leans into Louis’ space just a tad more. 

"It's the anxiety actually, she's a riot." Louis knows he shouldn’t joke about it. Richard has told him plenty of times in the past four weeks how bad it is to casually joke about his struggles. 

“Oh, am I making you uncomfortable?” Harry takes a step back. 

“God, no, I’m- It’s fine. Really. I mean I’m always anxious, but that’s just like, my natural state, you know?”

“Um,” Harry stutters, his eyebrows pull together again and he purses his lips.

The floodgates open and now Louis can’t seem to get himself to shut up. “But, I have medication for that now! I’m probably making myself sound like a nutter but that’s what I do, right? Like, I usually fuck it up in the early stages anyway. I’m not very good at this flirting thing, never have been really, but I’ll give it an honest go, I promise.” He smiles like he isn’t trying incredibly hard to not imagine going behind the bar and knocking himself out with the thickest glass they have. “I get awkward, and one night stands are rubbish, ‘cause I always seem to have a panic attack as soon as the good stuff starts going, if you know what I mean. But, I do have a great sense of humor and I’m not opposed to long term casual. But look at me, we just met and I’m going off the deep end.” If Louis’ laugh comes out a bit on the hysterical side, Harry doesn’t say anything. 

Instead, Harry’s smile reaches his eyes and is brighter than Louis has seen it yet. 

“How about this: you tell me what you’re comfortable with?” It comes out like a question. 

Louis realizes now that he’s up close and personal with Mr. Rockstar, he can see how green his eyes are. They’re probably the most beautiful eyes Louis has ever seen. 

“How about, you buy me a drink and  _ maybe _ , if you like me enough, I can give you my number when we’re done here.” Louis smiles now. Because if Harry hasn’t run for the hills at this point, there’s still a sliver of hope. And hope is something Louis hasn’t felt in, well, years probably. It’s not much, but it’s enough to get him through the night. 

Harry’s eyes dance between Louis’ two blue ones and down to his lips in a perfect triangle. The corners of his mouth tug up as he grabs the empty pint from Louis’ hands. 

“There’s just one thing I need to know,” Harry almost whispers as he leans in just a bit more. 

“Yeah?”

“What name should I save with your number?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis wakes up the night after mic night and gets a text.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! I have added a few tags so check those if you want. Thank you for returning to this story it means a lot. Thank you Christy for being my beta and being wonderful! You can find me on Tumblr @tequilatequilafics

“Do you have to be so loud?”

“I’m just making breakfast…”

So, Louis has learned his lesson. Maybe he should’ve listened to Liam last night and stopped at two drinks. He’s never been a lightweight, but apparently between not having anything to drink for a month and mixing beer and medication has him nursing a hangover from three pints. 

Louis grunts and falls down into a chair at their small four-person table. 

“How are you so cheery?” Louis asks into the table as he lets his phone fall noisily onto the chipped wood, then his head into his arms. 

Liam hums while he flips a few strips of bacon sizzling so loud it’s making Louis’ appetite dwindle. 

“Where’s Zayn?” Louis asks through the pounding in his temples. 

“Had a meeting with a client this morning.” 

If Louis cared more he could probably hear Zayn’s voice in their spare bedroom that has been dubbed ‘the office’. Really it’s just two Ikea desks, one holding Zayn’s desktop where he does actual work and the other where either Louis or Liam sit to annoy Zayn while he sketches and uses his fancy animation programs. Because of his job, Zayn never really has to leave the flat, which is a plus for Louis who is an actual homebody. It’s nice until Zayn gets antsy and tries to get Louis to actually go outside. He’ll go to the shops, but Zayn will have to put in some effort if he wants Louis to go anywhere where he’s forced to interact with others. At least at the grocery store he can use the beautiful invention that is the self-checkout lane. 

Sensing Louis’ irritable mood, Liam finishes breakfast in silence and fills the sink with soap and water (always prepared, Liam is), before setting a plate and a perfectly prepared cup of tea in front of each of them. 

Between his pounding temples and turning stomach, Louis gets at least half his plate cleared before Zayn shuffles out from the hallway, his hair impeccable. Must have been a video conference. 

Louis glances up to Zayn and they share a quiet smile before Zayn prepares his own plate. It’s times like this that Louis is thankful he gets to live with two of his best mates. The silence that fills the room is light and comfortable. There’s no need to fill the void with unnecessary chatter. They can enjoy each other’s companionship in blissful lull. 

Until Zayn ruins it. 

“So you and Harry…” 

“I'm gonna stop you right there.” Louis holds up a finger while he sips at his tea, flushing the bits of dried toast down his throat. Dear lord, Liam really does make a mean cuppa. “It was nothing. Harry was not, and is not, interested in the likes of me.” 

Liam hums around the fork in his mouth and Zayn eyes his eggs while hiding a smile. 

“We’re not going to talk about this.” 

“You two just looked so good-”

“No.” 

“He was a very nice-”

“No.”

“Lou, come on,” Zayn says. “You two got on so well-”

“Both of you,” Louis says with more force as he points to both of his friends with his fork, “need to stop.”

“But you gave him your number,” Liam retaliates, leaning back in his chair.

“It’s not like he’s going to text me anyway.” 

The world likes to make Louis into a joke. He’s pretty sure the only reason he’s allowed to live is because Louis is the comedic relief for God. 

Louis’ phone vibrates on the table and the screen lights up. 

Liam leans over to look at it. 

“‘Hey Lou, it was lovely to meet you’...” Liam smirks. “You might want to open that.” 

In defiance of the skip of his heart, Louis ignores the device and brings his tea back up to his lips. 

“It’s nothing.” Louis says nonchalantly. “I’m too fucked up for a guy as nice as Harry, anyway.” 

Immediately both Liam and Zayn start rejecting that idea. 

“You can’t let what happened hold you back,” Zayn says carefully as Liam says, “You’re not fucked up.” 

“I  _ am  _ fucked up.” Louis says with more gusto. “And don’t tell me I’m not. It’s the truth. It wouldn’t be fair to Harry.” He places his plain white mug on the table, pushes up the sleeves of the jumper he’s been wearing since last night and stretches his arms over the table. “You think Harry would want anything to do with me once he catches sight of these?” 

“ _ We _ do!” Liam says, avoiding looking at the still fresh pink skin that raises up unnaturally. 

Instinct tells Louis to laugh at this, because at this point, he’s not sure why either of them put up with him. Maybe so he can help with rent. Or because he brings home the good biscuits Zayn always forgets. He’s never been able to pinpoint the exact reason they indulge him. Why they fruitlessly try to comfort him from the fact that there’s no way Louis will see thirty and even if he did, he wouldn’t find someone to spend those later years with anyway. Especially not someone as gorgeous and talented as Harry. 

“Doesn’t matter what you say, boys. It’s not going to happen.” Louis stands and collects his dishes. “Done?” He points to Liam and Zayn’s empty plates. 

“I’ve got it.” Liam stands with his plate.

“You cooked, at least let me do the wash up,” Louis snags all the plates and silverware, receiving odd looks from his friends. 

So maybe Louis doesn’t do the washing up very often. Okay, maybe he never does the washing up. But right now, anything sounds good as long as it keeps his hands busy and mind away from his phone that’s vibrating again. 

“He’s messaged you twice,” Liam says from behind Louis who is now elbow deep in water and suds. 

“Really?” Louis turns a bit but gathers himself quickly and focuses on the fork he’s scrubbing with too much force. “Don’t look through my shit. We’ve gone over this, haven’t we?”

The boys behind Louis start going back and forth. Louis zones out on the task at hand. Did Harry really message him twice? Probably so he could tell Louis that he’s going to erase his number. Sure, Harry laughed at all his jokes and complimented the random tattoos on his knuckles, but that didn’t mean he would want to see Louis again.

Louis probably got on his nerves. That’s what Louis does. He gets to talking and wont shut the fuck up and doesn’t have a filter so uncensored nonsense ends up spilling out of his mouth. That’s why he doesn’t have many friends. Friendship is a hard thing to come by when you’re self-centered and talkative. Louis always makes everything about himself. He’s a shit listener. No one  _ really  _ likes him. 

“I think the dish is clean.” 

Louis’ eyes half-refocus on the task at hand. 

“Just practicing for tomorrow,” he says through a forced laugh. 

“I need to go to the shops anyway; did you want me to walk with you?” Zayn leans against the damp counter and drinks his coffee from a mug given to him from some random YouTuber he did some commission for. His dark eyes run over Louis. 

“Uh, sure,” Louis says, watching his hands rinse a plate and place it in the drying rack. 

“Nervous?”

“Not really,” he lies. “Just cleaning some glasses and sweeping the floor. Can’t be hard.” 

“It’s okay if you’re nervous.” 

From somewhere else, Louis watches the exchange. “Maybe a bit, first day and all. Niall will be there if I need someone. Don’t worry so much about me. It’s superfluous.”

Zayn smirks. “Superfluous? Fancy.” 

Louis snorts. “I did go to uni. I know words.” 

“ _ You _ ? Know  _ words _ ?”

“Surprisingly enough, Zayn.” 

Louis smiles as Zayn laughs. He lightly punches his shoulder and pushes off the counter, leaving Louis alone with his thoughts and dirty suds. 

As Louis finishes his cleaning, he decides he’s not even going to read Harry’s texts. He’s just going to delete them. Harry doesn’t deserve to get into the mess being involved with Louis would ultimately create. Louis is drying his hands on a rag, then picking up his phone. 

He’s looking at the notification. He’s going to delete it. But...maybe he should see what Harry said first. Just, you know, to satisfy Louis’ curiosity. Not that he wants to read it. He really just wants to delete both messages. 

**Unknown Number: Hey Lou, it was lovely to meet you. I had a lot of fun and I really hope we can see each other again :) x**

**Unknown Number: Oh, it’s Harry Styles by the way haha. Should have probably said that first. Xx**

It’s just...God Harry is so endearing. The nickname? The x’s? Him forgetting to even tell Louis that it was him sending the text? It’s all endearing and it’s all making Louis smile like a fucking moron in the middle of his kitchen. 

Louis really isn’t going to text him back. Someone so adorable deserves better than Louis. His thumb hovers over the delete button but he can’t press it. He can’t give up on silky curls and a loud, uncontained laugh. Would it be selfish to just message him back? Louis could explain why it’s such a bad idea to get involved with him. Harry at least deserves an explanation, Louis resolves. 

**Louis: I'm very flattered but I don't think this could work**

_ Delete _

**Louis: It was lovely meeting you too. I'm not a good person to be friends with though let alone something more**

_ Delete _

What's he supposed to say? Everything he types sounds rude and Harry doesn't deserve that. Louis pockets his phone and rubs his eyes forcefully with wrinkly hands. 

With a sigh, Louis makes his way to the office. Zayn is there at his desk, some R&B music playing softly as he clicks around on his computer surrounded by sketch books and loose pencils. Louis falls into the spare office chair at the other desk that holds a lamp that flickers and a small filing cabinet. 

“Hey,” Zayn says, looking up from his work. 

“Hey.” 

It's selfish for Louis to be here asking for advice. He knows Liam is too straight forward when it comes to stuff like this. Zayn has a way of comforting Louis that Liam still has yet to master. 

“What’s up?” The faux-leather chair Zayn sits on squeaks as he turns to face Louis. 

“So…” He gathers his sporadic thoughts the best he can. “How do I let Harry down without sounding like an absolute knob?”

“What did he say?”

Wordlessly, Louis hands over his phone. 

A minute passes while Zayn reads. 

“He’s not really asking you anything though?”

“Well, not exactly, but he wants to see me again.” Louis brings his thumbnail up to his mouth and chews on it. 

“Why is that so bad?”

Louis runs his free hand through his hair and tucks his legs under himself. 

“Because what if he wants more? You know? It’s not fair to him to bring him into my mess.” 

“Well,” Zayn muses as he taps Louis' phone against an open palm, “don’t you think that’s something he should decide?”

A groan slips out of Louis' mouth and he pulls at the roots of the hair at the nape of his neck. 

“I guess…” 

“Just text him back. He didn’t ask you on a date, he didn’t profess his undying love. He’s just being friendly, yeah?”

“Yeah...but like...what do I say?” 

“How’s about…” Zayn holds the phone in his hands and begins typing. 

“Don’t send anything!” Louis leans forward and reaches for his phone.

Zayn pulls back out of Louis’ reach. “I’m not gonna. You read it and if you like it, send it.” 

“Fine.” 

Last night really feels like a fever dream to Louis. It’s almost too good to have happened to him of all people. In all three relationships Louis has had since college, he was the one who was interested at first. Sure he had a few times in his life where a good looking bloke might have looked his way, but nothing compared to the way Harry had acted with him. 

It’s odd. Part of Louis is sure Harry isn’t into him. The other part remembers the night before. He remembers the way Harry led him over to the bar and ordered a beer for Louis and a gin and tonic for himself. 

“Would it be cheesy of me to ask if you come here often?” Harry said as he leaned on the bar.

“Yes,” Louis replied, “so don’t.” 

“Fair enough.” Harry’s smile was bright under the dim, warm lights of  _ Stan’s _ . 

“So Harry, do you come here often?” Louis asked through a shaky voice and buckled knees. 

“I don’t actually.” Harry's smile grew. “It’s my first time here.” 

Their banter went back and forth until their drinks arrived and then even after that, Louis found himself becoming more and more at ease. Harry was easy to talk to. He listened to everything Louis had to say even if it was a mouthful and load of bullshit that didn’t matter. Harry listened and replied like it did. 

Halfway through their drinks, Louis’ anxiety had faded so much he almost forgot Harry was a complete stranger. 

“Lou, you had two...hello,” Liam said with Zayn in tow, stopping short when he saw Harry and Louis sitting at a table, their chairs pulled close and heads even closer to hear each other over the commotion of the pub. 

“Oh, um, hello boys,” Louis said, pulling back from Harry when he became aware of their proximity. 

There was a beat of awkward silence, Liam and Zayn eyeing Harry while Harry’s eyes bounced around the three friends. 

“I’m Liam and this is my boyfriend Zayn.” Liam held a hand out to Harry who took it with a smile. “We’re friends of Louis.” 

“I wouldn’t say friends,” Louis remembers saying, a nice thick buzz melting his anxiety and fear, “they’re more of nuisance than anythin’.”

“I’m Harry, nice to meet you two. Louis here has been keeping me company.” 

Louis remembers Harry’s eyes leaving Zayn and Liam to land back on him. To rake over him and shine like Louis was something of worth. Like he was enjoying sitting in a shitty pub discussing Green Day with someone who barely had enough energy to pull himself out of bed in the morning or take a shower more than once a week. 

“Uh, just wanted to check in,” Zayn interrupted. “We were gonna leave after the next round.” 

“Why don’t you join us. Enough seats for us all,” Harry said genuinely. 

“Sure-”

“Actually Niall is expecting us outside for a smoke,” Zayn said over Liam’s attempt to speak. 

That’s how Louis found himself standing in front of the pub, outside in the freezing winter air, Harry stood behind him to wrap his giant coat around the two of them as they shared a cigarette. 

“I don’t usually smoke,” Harry had said as his jaw hit Louis’ shoulder as he spoke and his voice rumbling through the back of Louis’ horrid excuse for a winter jacket. Sue him, he gets cold easily and both him and Harry had been a bit tipsy. It was just two lads sharing a smoke. And a coat. And personal space. Just two lads, alright. 

Louis took a drag, his hand poking out from the collar of Harry’s jacket. His other hand was tucked deep into the pocket of his own jean jacket but Harry’s arm pinned it tight up against his side. Harry's hands, balled into fists, held onto the long lapels of the coat laid lightly against Louis' sides. It was almost like a hug. If Louis allowed himself to think so recklessly, he would have said Harry just wanted an excuse to wrap himself around Louis. Like, maybe Harry  _ wanted _ to lay his hands on Louis' waist and pull him in close and nuzzle his nose into the sensitive skin of Louis' neck.

“Do you want it then?” Louis asked quietly, his whole body relaxed as if he’d just smoked a giant joint right to his head. Harry smelled like vanilla and tobacco and possibly mint. Louis should have been having a panic attack. He should have been losing his goddamn mind to have a stranger pressed so tightly up against him. But he didn’t. He felt safe. Liam and Zayn were sharing a cigarette discussing the newest Marvel movie with Niall just three feet away. 

“When in Rome,” Harry muttered, his breath visible in the chill. “You gotta hold the coat shut though. Unless you’re going to bring it to my mouth for me.” 

“Harold, do you think we’re close enough for me to put a fag into your mouth? For god sakes, we just met.”

“If you hold the coat I’ll do it myself,” Harry said with a teasing smile. 

Their faces were so close all Louis had to do was tilt his head back just a bit and he could kiss Harry right on his pretty mouth. But he didn’t. He couldn’t do that to Harry. 

“I don’t think I want to get my fingers so close to that mouth of yours. I don’t trust you.” Louis tried to be serious but he couldn’t stop the giggle that bubbled up out of his throat. 

“Just hold the fucking coat, Lou,” Harry chuckled. His breath was the mint Louis was smelling as it washed over his red nose and cheeks.

“Hmm, okay. I won't fight anymore.” 

Reluctantly, Louis took his hand from his pocket to hold the coat closed. They fumbled around exchanging the cigarette. Louis curled his fingers into the warm wool of the black coat right where Harry’s were. 

Harry covered Louis' hand with his own free one and coughed out a puff of smoke on the first drag. The second one went down a bit smoother. 

“Want this back?”

“My hands are nice and warm though,” Louis said and he might have pulled their warmth a bit more snug around them. Louis opened his mouth and turned the back of his head into the crook of Harry’s neck. He could feel smooth curls on his neck and tickling his ears. “Gimmie.” 

It sent chills up Louis’ spine when Harry’s pointer and middle finger pressed up against his lips. Something stirred deep within his belly when he sucked on the end of the cigarette and turned to see Harry’s eyes watch the smoke roll out of Louis’ mouth with a slack jaw. The air was charged with something Louis might have never felt. That energy stayed even when they went back inside and chatted until Liam and Zayn were ready to leave and Harry held a hand out for a shake and Louis batted at it like it personally offended him. There was something there when Louis wrapped his arms around Harry’s neck and held on like it might be the last time he would ever be in the presence of such a beautifully magnificent human being. 

It takes about thirty seconds until Zayn is handing the phone back, bringing Louis out of his thoughts. 

**Louis: It was nice to meet you too Harry :) Maybe we will see each other again at the next mic night if you perform again. I’m glad you texted me.**

“No,” Louis says after he reads it. “It sounds so formal. I don’t do smiley faces. I hate it.” 

“Then retype it in your own words!” Zayn laughs. 

**Louis: You’re alright Harold. You were wicked on stage. Will you be there next week?**

Louis passes the phone back. 

“See, easy as that.” Zayn smiles and hands the phone back to Louis. 

“But what do I do if he messages back?” 

“Jesus, just text him like you do with me or Liam,” Zayn says, sounding a bit strung out. 

This shouldn’t be so difficult, Louis thinks. He presses the send button before he has another moment to over think it and lets out a squeal. 

“Ah! I sent it, Jesus fuck.” Louis aggressively bites his thumbnail. 

“You’re acting like a teenage girl!” Zayn laughs as his eyes meet Louis’. 

“You know I’m not good at this shit. Dating and whatever else.” There's a few moments of silence as Louis stares at the conversation and Zayn turns back to his work. “Ah! He texted back!” Louis throws the phone on Zayn’s lap and stands up, pacing the small room. 

“Already?” Carefully, Zayn examines the phone and his eyebrows shoot up into his hairline. 

“What’d he say, what’d he say!” Louis hisses as his chest tightens. 

“Read it for yourself.” 

“No, you read it, please? Just give it to me straight.”

“God, you’re not dying,” Zayn chuckles and reads, “‘I will be if you are,’ then two x’s.”

“Be what? What? What does that mean?” 

“Oh my- mic night, you idiot! He will be at mic night if you’re gonna be there!” 

“Oh,” Louis breaths, his face heating up. “He said that?” He reaches for the phone, and lo and behold, the text says just that. 

Harry wants to see him again? After Louis embarrassed himself and basically showed Harry how much of a shit show he is? Harry Styles, rock star, owner of the stage and incredibly tight pants, wants to see Shit Show Tomlinson again? Fuck. 

“What-”

“Louis,” Zayn says calmly as he reaches out to hold Louis’ wrists and looks him in the eye. “You don’t have to overthink this. I know you will, but even if you have to spend an hour figuring out what you want to send back, I’m sure Harry will be happy to hear back from you. It’s okay. Take a few deep breaths and text him like you would text me. Alright?” 

Funnily enough, Zayn’s calm voice and anchoring touch does slow Louis’ heart rate just a tad. 

“Okay, I’ll, uh, I’ll let you get back to work,” Louis mumbles, prying his wrists out of Zayn’s hands. “Gotta take a shower and stuff, right?”

“I’ll be looking for an update later,” Zayn says and points at Louis. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Louis says through a dry laugh. “Right. Thanks.”


End file.
